


Ditto

by noicle



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for the second spiderman movie, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noicle/pseuds/noicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gwen's death, Harry takes to drowning himself in the all too common poison of alcohol. It takes a pinch and a punch to the heart, but Peter always fixes things. Well, at least in theory he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ditto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiierenwaalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiierenwaalker/gifts).



> So in light of the second Spiderman coming out I decided to write a thing. I mean jesus there was too much pain and heartache in that film christ almighty. 
> 
> It's kind of self explanatory, but the fic is based after Gwen's death, and before the whole action packed fight scene with Rhino. AND THE WHOLE 'HARRY IS IN PRISON' THING IS JUST. OBLITERATED FOR STORIES SAKE. I'm so sorry.
> 
> First time actually taking a crack at anything resembling porn, so god knows how this shit panned out but let's hope for the best I suppose.
> 
> Dedicated to my Petey.

Silence and guilt go hand in hand.

And liquor makes an undeniably perfect addition to the aforementioned.

Harry Osborn had taken purchase of the entirety of his beige couch, sprawled out over the expensive fabric with one leather clad foot tapping against the ground and the other nestling against the opposing armrest. The toe of his boot dug into the far crevice of the cushion as he pushed back, reclining further so that his body curled partially in on itself. Pale fingers gripped tighter to the glass in hand, harsh bronze liquid sloshing against the edges with each new movement, threatening to spill over. Spilt scotch would be considered the least of his problems, as would the current state of disarray the room was already in; empty bottles covering the table and beginning to litter across the floor, various bits of broken furniture and the occasional take out box. Harry himself looked as ruined as the room around him, if his usually well-kept hair mussed and sticking up awkwardly from day old product was anything to go by.

The taste of alcohol poisoning was heavy and vile against the back of Harry’s throat, the sting of a drunken hangover making his head pound, bringing wetness to the corners of his eyes with each pulse. Gagging didn't even cause him to lurch forward anymore, and part of him hoped that he’d choke on his vomit.

_Oh the hilarity!_

A few days prior he would have done anything to stay alive (and he did), but now just the thought of putting in the effort seemed repulsive. What kind of disgusting human being was he? His father would be rolling in his grave, wheezing with unyielding laughter. His son was just like him. Harry was just like his father, a carbon copy even.

What kind of sick individual murders their best friends hope? Steals away their everything and laughs in their face even after defeat?

Apparently he was that kind of individual.

The knot in his stomach tightened, so he brought the glass to his lips. His throat felt raw as alcohol coated its walls, sliding down like acidic fire that only burned worse the more you drank.

There was a low creaking sound, like a window being pushed open with worn hinges, followed by an equally as quiet thud as two feet hit flooring. Harry had long learned to brush every sound off as being in his head though, after his potentially dangerous intake of alcoholic substances which is only continuing to worsen by the minute. You hear strange things when under the influence. So he ignored the sounds, swallowing the rest of the scotch in his glass only to reach down to the floor for the half emptied bottle.

When he brought himself back up he gasped, eyes widening as they took in the blurred outline of what appeared to be none other than Peter Parker in the flesh. His brows were knit together in a concerned line, and his lips had drawn into a very unimpressed pout. Harry wanted to hide, he wanted to peel away his skin and pretend he was nothing, no one.

But then Peter was stepping forward, crowding him against the couch as he leered down at the scotch bottle in Harry’s grasp.

“What are you doing..?” He sounded so disappointed, his voice low and despondent.

Seconds ticked by that felt like minutes, and when Harry still hadn’t answered, Peter sighed heavily and pulled long digits through his short cropped hair. He moved to crouch, leaning his arms on the edge of the couch cushion for balance. Not that he needed it. He was Spiderman after all.

“Look,” He began, and Harry knew he was in for some kind of lecture he wouldn’t be able to comprehend properly through the haze of liquor and self-hatred. He did manage to return the bottle to the floor though.

“You and I both know this” Peter gestured to the empty bottles strewn about the room, “is not the way to deal with the situation at hand.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Harry locked his jaw, his teeth biting together to refrain himself from lashing out unintentionally. Peter didn’t seem to notice his discomfort though, already parting his lips only for them to spill more undeserved dismissal of Harry’s actions.

“I know you won’t believe it, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m going to say it anyway” He paused for a brief moment as if collecting himself (which is exactly what he undoubtedly was doing).

“Gwen’s death wasn’t your fault.”

That did it. Harry was pulling himself into a sitting position, both of his feet now resting on the floor as he leaned over himself to get in Peter’s face. He feigned innocence, widening his eyes just so and giving his bottom lip a bit of a quiver as he looked to his best friend - Former best friend.

Peter would think he saw him as a saviour, if Harry’s acting skills were as top notch as they used to be. And by the look Peter gave him, they were.

“…You’re right. You’re right Pete, it wasn’t my fault…”

There was a pause before everything went to hell. Harry could count to the exact second Peter’s hopeful spark burned out completely. That’s when he broke, a cruel smile cutting itself upon his lips, slotting his teeth into place as he sneered. Harry’s hand shot forward, fingers clasping tight around the front of Peter’s button up shirt and giving a hard tug.

His impossibly blue eyes glared into Peter’s brown ones for a brief moment as he drew nearer, his drunken breath casting warmth over Peter’s ear once Harry had nestled himself close enough.

“It was _yours_ ” It came out in more of a hiss than a whisper, all bite.

He wasn’t surprised when Peter jerkily rose to his feet, and fully expected him to up and leave. He was, however, surprised when he felt hands at his arms, yanking him upwards in a flurry of motion. His confused gaze had just begun to cast in Peter’s direction when a fist met with the tender flesh of his cheek.

Harry stumbled, but didn’t fall.

He tasted metal, and he smiled.

“Were you disgusted with yourself when you attended her funeral?” Harry swallowed the blood in his mouth, swaying upright whilst looking at Peter through a wall of dark hair.

“Her murderer, mourning her grave, how sweet” He taunted, and Peter’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

Harry sauntered towards him, standing almost flush against the other as his hands came up to cup both of Peter’s cheeks.

“I’m sure her daddy is proud”

Everything went fuzzy after that. The corners of Harry’s vision went black, and the room spun sickeningly as his spine cracked painfully against a hard surface (which he presumed to be a wall). His shoulder blades were bruised from the impact and the back of his head was starting to throb with a dull pain, but all he could do was laugh. He let his head roll back against the wall as his lips parted and his throat opened up, a disgusting sound crawling over his tongue and out of his mouth. It was meant to hold malicious intent, but ended up laced with remorse and a touch of insanity.

He sounded broken, and if in his intoxicated state he could decipher that, then the look Peter was giving him meant he could too.

Bracing for another hit, Harry’s eyes slid shut and his frame slumped. He felt the fingers curling at the front of his t-shirt. He felt them tugging forward mercilessly. He felt lips crushing against his own desperately, and then his eyes were wide with shock and his entire body had seized up. He was frozen and terrified, and he swore at that moment his heart had stopped beating in the cage of his chest.

And then within less than a second, a time frame that felt like a millennium, Harry was carding his hands through Peter’s hair, nails digging into scalp as they scrambled for purchase with an urgency he hadn’t realize he’d been harbouring. Peter was pressing closer, trapping Harry between himself and the wall as he gripped at his hips, pressing bruises into the flesh with the pads of his fingers alone.

The dizziness wasn’t from the impact against the wall any longer, as Harry let himself be consumed entirely by his childhood friend. Peter was like a drug, and when a tongue pressed almost shyly against Harry’s lips, he had no choice but to indulge the addiction. A soft moan threatened to draw its way from Harry’s throat as the wet muscle flitted across the back of his teeth, and he’d never been more grateful for the mouth over his that suffocated the sounds.

If drowning was a pleasant metaphor, Harry would apply it to kissing Peter. It was intoxicating; smothering in all the right ways, like being enveloped in the sweetest of poison that encased the lungs and created a pool impossible to drain.

Peter adjusted his position, slipping a leg between Harry’s so he could slot himself closer, his knee brushing up against a rather sensitive spot. A gasp broke the tangle of lips, Harry’s eyes opening to slits as he pressed his head back against the cool surface of the wall behind him.

“ _Peter_ ”

His voice was horse, and came out in a desperate croak rather than the husky lustful tone he was aiming for in his head. It seemed to work all the same, as Peter shifted his knee in a circular motion. Something he could later brush off as an innocent act of impulse.

Warm lips were against Harry’s neck, sucking and nipping the skin with no softness to the action. There would be purple bruises

dotting his otherwise pale span of unblemished skin in the morning, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. In fact, he quite enjoyed the idea.

Teeth bit into the now raw flesh, eliciting a lascivious groan from Harry, coupled by the shift of his hips as he bucked forward, sliding over Peter’s leg with an almost pornographic beauty. Peter drew back then, pulling skin between his teeth until he had no choice but to release it.

Harry opened his eyes only to meet hazy brown staring back at him. He could get lost in those eyes. And he very well might have if Peter hadn’t sealed their mouths together once more in a rush of what Harry perceived as possessiveness.

He wouldn’t have picked Peter for the possessive type.

He wasn’t complaining though.

A hand had slipped between them unbeknownst to Harry, and so surprise coloured his features when fingers popped open the button on his jeans, moving to work down the zip with haste.

The kiss broke.

He swallowed.

There wasn’t time to be nervous now.

The zipper met its end and the hand was now slipping its way down the front of Harry’s underwear, cool digits brushing against his swelling manhood. If his father was rolling in his grave before, he’d definitely be stunned into solidity now.

Harry eyed Peter again, pushing the anxiety to the back of his mind. Peter had his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the pink flesh mercilessly before curling his fingers entirely around Harry’s member, pulling it from its fabric encasing and stroking upward.

Harry’s lips fell open and he swore.

And then his hands were on Peter’s face, pulling him in and kissing him passionately.

It was slower than before, more careful and calculated, though stuttered and nerve-driven. His lips moved against Peter’s delicately, hips rolling in time with the paced movement of Peter’s fist. Harry knew he wouldn’t last long, and from the ever-increasing strokes, he assumed Peter was aware as well.

Harry broke away with a string of moans, tucking his head into the crevice between Peter’s neck and shoulder, his nose pressing into the hollow above Peter’s collar bone. His lips parted and it was his time to mark beautiful unmarred flesh, suckling the skin until blotchy red colouration formed and Harry could pull away with satisfaction.

The sounds came vulgar and unprecedented from then on, Harry’s hips jerking helplessly as Peter skimmed his thumb across the head of his cock, using the pre-cum to quicken his pace without the slide becoming uncomfortable.

Several more pumps and Harry was lost to the world, stars blazing brightly behind his fluttering eyelids as white light crowded his vision. His hands had fallen to Peter’s shoulders, nails digging crescent shaped marks into the skin as his head tipped back and his mouth hung open.

The broken gasps subsided and Harry’s entire frame slumped, his body feeling heavy like iron as the exhaustion curled itself around him in thick layers. Peter’s arms had wound around his middle, keeping him upright and pulled against his chest. A chest Harry decided was significantly more toned under that shirt than it ever had been when he’d known him all those years ago.

Once he’d gotten a hold of his own footing, he pulled back staring long and hard at the image of his friend. And then he was sliding down. Lowering himself to his knees as his hands trailed down Peter’s sides, the look on the elders face reflecting none other than pure, honest confusion.

That confusion dwindled away and was replaced with understanding as Harry began to undo Peter’s own jeans, tugging the tight fabric down to his thighs. A hand touched at his cheek and he looked up, Peter’s lips twitching into a very uncharacteristically timid smile.

“You don’t have to do this” He mumbled, honesty seeping into his words like honey.

“I want to” Was all Harry said before a grin split his face, and he tugged down Peter’s boxers.

The red on Peter’s Spiderman costume could never live up to the brightness on the male’s cheeks at that precise moment and that filled Harry with a sense of humour and pride.

Before Peter opened his big mouth to protest again, Harry was trailing his tongue along Peter’s length experimentally, rendering him completely and utterly silent. After licking a stripe upwards from the base, Harry encircled the head with his lips, giving a soft suck before engulfing as much as he physically could handle. The sounds that poured from Peter’s lips were…Interesting, to say the least.

 Peter was surprisingly vocal throughout Harry’s ministrations, hands fisting in Harry’s hair whilst he squeezed his eyes shut and cursed verbally. Harry continued to move his mouth up and down, occasionally swirling his tongue around the tip before taking in that pulsing length again, and again, and again.

“ _Harry_. Harry I’m—“ Was all Peter could manage as a warning before he was shuddering and filling Harry’s mouth with the taste of tangy salt.

It wasn’t pleasant, nor was it unbearable, and so Harry swallowed. His tongue felt funny from the weight of Peter’s slowly softening member, and his lips were tingling as he pulled off. He tucked Peter back into his underwear before getting to his feet and dusting off his knees.

Blue caught brown and then they were kissing again. Harry was sure Peter could taste himself on his tongue, but that didn’t seem to faze the other as he continued to press against Harry like he was a life support, and in turn Harry did just the same.

They broke the connection and stared for another moment, breathing heavy.

And then quiet laughter filled the air, ringing in their ears as the chime got louder and louder, until it was a full on bellow. It didn’t subside until tears were sliding down from the corners of their eyes and their lips hurt from smiling.

Once comfortable silence wrapped around the both of them, Peter was the first to move, leaning forward to press his forehead against Harry’s. His eyes never left the casting of blue.

“I really did miss you” Peter spoke softly, a tender fondness in his tone that had Harry smiling again.

The swell in his chest felt real. And the wave of affection that engulfed Harry made him feel the most alive he had in years.

“Ditto”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hurt me


End file.
